


Sherlock, Sherlock, Let Down Your Scarf

by ChrisCalledMeSweetie



Series: Children's Classics with a Johnlock Twist [32]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Isolation, M/M, Romance, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, and they were towermates, oh my god they were towermates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25366012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrisCalledMeSweetie/pseuds/ChrisCalledMeSweetie
Summary: When John discovers Sherlock shut away in a tower, he vows to rescue the young man. But does Sherlock want to be rescued?
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Children's Classics with a Johnlock Twist [32]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/572665
Comments: 100
Kudos: 102
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020, Isolated Johnlock Collection





	1. Once Upon a Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> A retelling of Rapunzel for Fandom Trumps Hate

Once upon a time there was a couple by the name of Holmes, who lived in a small house high on a hill. Their home overlooked a vast, dark forest, and at the edge of the forest lived an old Wise Woman named Mrs. Hudson, who was distrusted by all of the local villagers, because they feared she might be a witch.

Mrs. Hudson had a beautiful garden, full of sweet-smelling flowers and herbs. Mrs. Holmes would often stand on the hill and look down at that garden with envy. Nothing would grow on the hill where she lived – the earth was hard and stony. Mrs. Holmes wished she could have a beautiful, sweet-smelling garden like the Wise Woman.

It came to pass that Mrs. Holmes found herself with child. As her belly grew, so did her craving for the herbs growing in Mrs. Hudson’s garden. She quite pined away, and began to look pale and miserable.

Her husband was alarmed, and asked, “What ails you, dear wife?”

“Ah,” she replied, “if I can't eat some of the herbs from Mrs. Hudson’s garden I shall die.”

Mr. Holmes, who loved her, thought, “Sooner than let your wife die, bring her some of the herbs yourself, let it cost what it will.”

At twilight, he crept down the hill and into the garden of the Wise Woman, hastily clutched a handful of herbs, and took them to his wife. She at once made herself a salad with them, and ate it greedily. They tasted so good to her, so very good, that the next day she longed for them three times as much as before.

If he was to have any rest, her husband knew he must once more descend into the garden. Therefore, in the gloom of evening, he went down again; but when he had clambered over the low stone wall of the garden he was terribly afraid, for he saw the Wise Woman standing before him.

“What are you doing in my garden,” demanded Mrs. Hudson. 

“Please,” begged Mr. Holmes, “my wife is with child, and her cravings are so strong that I fear she will die if she cannot have some of your herbs. Please allow me to bring some to her.”

“Absolutely not,” said Mrs. Hudson. “All of the plants in my garden are magical. If your wife were to eat even one bite, the child growing within her would be forever altered, in ways you could not possibly understand.”

Mr. Holmes gasped in horror at these words. “But-but-but,” he stammered, “but my wife has already eaten a salad made from your herbs.”

“Then it is too late,” said the Wise Woman. “I will allow you to take away with you whatever herbs your wife desires, only I make one condition: you must give me the child which she will bring into the world. It shall be well treated, and I will care for it like a mother.”

Mr. Holmes, in his terror, consented to everything. He swore a binding oath to do as the Wise Woman asked.

And so, Mrs. Holmes got her herbs, and they tasted even better than before. Days turned into weeks and weeks became months. Each day, Mrs. Holmes consumed the herbs from the Wise Woman’s garden, and each day the child growing within her changed, becoming more and more special, and less and less hers. 

As the winter snows began to fall, Mrs. Holmes gave birth to a baby boy with big blue-green eyes and a shock of dark curls. Keeping to her bargain, Mrs. Hudson appeared at once. Mrs. Holmes, who had little in the way of maternal feeling, willingly handed the baby over to the Wise Woman, who gave the child the name of Sherlock, and took him away with her.

Sherlock was a beautiful baby who grew into an extraordinary child. His quickness of mind, keenness of observation, and powers of deduction were unrivalled. He had an unquenchable thirst for knowledge.

Mrs. Hudson taught Sherlock all she knew. She taught him the uses of the plants of her garden. She taught him the ways of the animals of the forest. She taught him the properties of the minerals of the earth. But the one thing Mrs. Hudson could not teach Sherlock was to keep his deductions to himself.

Each time they visited the village, Sherlock would employ his powers of observation to deduce all of the villagers’ secrets. He knew the butcher was selling rat meat as rabbit. He knew the baker added a pinch of sand to each loaf of bread to cheaply increase its weight. He knew the candlestick maker’s wife was having an affair with the milkmaid. And whatever Sherlock knew, he told. This did not endear him to the villagers.

Soon, word of this unusual boy with an uncanny knack for knowing everyone’s secrets – and a disturbing propensity for blurting them out – spread far beyond the village. Eventually the news reached the halls of the castle from which the evil king, Moriarty, ruled over the land. King Moriarty had plenty of secrets, and he would do anything in his power to prevent his subjects from discovering them, so he commanded his soldiers to find the child and put an end to him.

Rumours of the king’s plan reached the Wise Woman’s cottage shortly before the soldiers did. Knowing she must act quickly, Mrs. Hudson brewed a special tea and bade Sherlock to drink it. The moment he swallowed the last drop, Sherlock fell senseless to the floor. When the king’s soldiers arrived a few minutes later, they found Mrs. Hudson weeping over the apparently lifeless body of her adopted son.

Once the soldiers had assured themselves that the the boy breathed no more, they made to carry him off to show his body to King Moriarty. But Mrs. Hudson beseeched them to allow her to bury her child, and the soldiers, who were not as heartless as the ruler they served, relented.

As soon as the king’s soldiers had departed, Mrs. Hudson slid a bright red berry between Sherlock’s still lips. For a moment, nothing happened. Then Sherlock’s eyelids began to flutter, and he drew in a great lungful of air. Mrs. Hudson breathed a sigh of relief.

The danger, however, had not passed. Mrs. Hudson knew that if anyone discovered her deceit, Sherlock’s life would be forfeit. So, with heavy heart, she brought him, that night, under cover of darkness, to a tall tower deep in the forest. The tower had neither stairs nor door, but near the top was an arched window. 

Mrs. Hudson took out a long, blue woollen scarf, which she had been knitting for many months. She flung the scarf high into the air, until the end caught on a hook just inside the window. Bidding Sherlock to follow her, she climbed up the scarf and pulled herself through the window into the room at the top of the tower.

“Sherlock, dear,” Mrs. Hudson said kindly, “for your protection you must hide away in this tower. No one may know you still live. The people of this kingdom do not understand you, and they fear and hate what they do not understand.”

“The people are idiots,” retorted Sherlock.

“That may be so,” Mrs. Hudson replied, “but they are idiots with the power to destroy you. Please, for my sake and your own, promise me you will remain hidden here.”

Sherlock trusted Mrs. Hudson, who was the only mother he had ever known, and so he promised to do as she asked.

Mrs. Hudson made him a promise of her own: “I will bring you all I can to make this tower feel less like a prison and more like a home. Whenever I visit, I shall call out, _‘Sherlock, Sherlock, let down your scarf.’_ Then you will know it is safe to hang the scarf out the window so that I may climb up to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Sherlock’s isolation begins. Will he spend the rest of his days alone in the tower? Or will *someone* come along who might change his life forever? Find out next week, when "Sherlock, Sherlock, Let Down Your Scarf" concludes.
> 
> Kind comments and kudos ease my own feelings of isolation. Thank you. 😊


	2. Happily Ever After

Mrs. Hudson visited the tower as often as she could without arousing the villagers’ suspicions. Each time she arrived, she called out, _“Sherlock, Sherlock, let down your scarf.”_

As soon as he heard her voice, Sherlock would unwind the long blue scarf from his neck and hang it out the window so she could climb up to join him. 

Mrs. Hudson never arrived empty-handed. She provided Sherlock with his favourite foods and with fine, warm clothes. She brought him fascinating books to read and chemicals with which to experiment. She even presented him with an exquisitely crafted violin. Each day, when Mrs. Hudson had gone away, and Sherlock had tired of reading and experimenting, he could always find comfort in making music. 

In this way the years went by, and Sherlock grew from a boy into a young man.

One day, a young healer from a neighbouring kingdom was riding through the forest when he heard the most enchanting music. He followed the haunting melody until he came to a tall tower standing in a clearing. The sound of a violin drifted down from the high window. It was so charming that John (for that was the healer’s name) reined in his horse and listened for a long time. 

At last the song ended. Eager to meet such a talented musician, John called out his praises. But Sherlock, mindful of Mrs. Hudson’s constant admonitions to remain hidden, stayed well-back from the window and did not respond.

 _Perhaps the violinist cannot hear me out here,_ John thought. _I shall go inside to see who plays so beautifully._

John rode all the way around the tower, but he could find no entrance. 

_How could someone be inside a tower with no door?_ he wondered. _Am I so tired from my long journey that I merely imagined that lovely music?_

With a weary sigh, John began to ride off into the forest. He had not gone far, however, when he heard a voice calling, _“Sherlock, Sherlock, let down your scarf.”_

Turning his horse, John rode back to the edge of the clearing in time to see an old woman disappearing through the arched window at the top of the tower. A moment later, a young man leaned out of the window and began drawing up the long blue scarf by which the old woman had ascended.

John knew instantly that this young man – _Sherlock_ – must be the violinist he had heard. He gazed up, spellbound, for the beauty of the young man’s face matched the beauty of his music. All too soon, though, Sherlock retreated back inside the tower.

John drew breath to call out, but stopped himself. He recalled the rumours he had overheard in his travels about a local witch. Perhaps the old woman he had glimpsed was that very witch. Perhaps she had imprisoned the violinist in the tower. Perhaps she had cast a spell on the poor young man, so that whenever she called out the magic words – _Sherlock, Sherlock, let down your scarf_ – he would be compelled to do her bidding.

John was determined to rescue Sherlock. He considered his options. Even though he had briefly been a soldier before becoming a healer, there was no way of knowing what powers the witch might possess. Fighting would be foolhardy. He would have to bide his time.

John waited in the shelter of the trees all through the afternoon. Finally, just as the sun was setting, he saw the old woman descending the tower. As soon as she reached the ground, Sherlock pulled the scarf back through the window.

Although he was wild with impatience, John forced himself to remain hidden and quiet for another hour, until he was certain the witch was truly gone. Then, leaving his horse tied nearby, he walked to the base of the tower.

Mimicking the voice and words of the old woman, John called out, _“Sherlock, Sherlock, let down your scarf.”_

A long, thin shape came fluttering down through the darkness. John grasped the end of the scarf. The wool was tightly knitted, and when he tugged hard, it held fast. Bracing his boots against the rough stone of the tower, John climbed up the scarf and hauled himself through the arched window at the top.

Sherlock, who had been expecting to see Mrs. Hudson, cried out in alarm at the sight of a strange young man crawling through his window. 

“Don’t be afraid,” John said. “I’m here to rescue you.”

I the dim light from his candle, Sherlock took stock of the young man before him. He fired off his deductions: “You are not from this kingdom. You work as a healer, though you were once a soldier. You believe I am being held in this tower against my will, and that it is somehow your responsibility to save me from my fate. But you are mistaken.”

“How do you know all that?” John asked.

“I deduced it from your clothes, your bearing, and your words,” Sherlock replied.

“That was amazing,” John said. 

“Do you think so?” Sherlock asked.

“Of course it was. It was extraordinary. It was quite extraordinary.”

“That’s not what people normally say.”

“What do people normally say?”

“Piss off.”

John laughed. “Well, people are idiots.”

“Exactly!” Sherlock smiled. He pulled the scarf back through the window and wrapped it around his neck with a flourish. Then his face grew serious. “But, as Mrs. Hudson says, they are idiots with the power to destroy me.”

“Who is Mrs. Hudson?”

“My foster mother. The one whose voice you imitated to sneak your way in here.”

“Your foster mother? Is she the one who imprisoned you in this tower?”

“As I said before, you are mistaken in your belief that I am being held against my will. Mrs. Hudson brought me here for my own protection.”

“Protection? Protection from what?”

“From King Moriarty and his soldiers. They believe me to be dead. Were they to discover that I still live, they would swiftly ensure that I cease to do so.”

“Why on earth would the king want you dead?”

“Not everyone admires my observational skills the way you do. King Moriarty feared I would deduce his secrets and reveal them to the world. Seven years ago, when he sent his soldiers to kill me, Mrs. Hudson tricked them and brought me here.”

“And you’ve been living alone in this tower all these years?”

“Yes.”

“Well you needn’t hide away here any longer. In the kingdom I come from, we value intelligence and honesty. You will be welcome there, and your true worth will be appreciated. Come away with me – my horse can carry two, and we can leave tonight.”

“I could never leave Mrs. Hudson. She has always been a mother to me, and is the kindest and wisest person I’ve ever known.”

“If she is as kind as you say, she will not wish to keep you locked up here when you could be out in the world, creating a life of your own.”

“I _have_ a life of my own, and it is _here,_ in this tower. I have my books, my experiments, and my violin. I am content here. I have no wish to leave.”

John regarded Sherlock silently for a few moments. Then he said, “If you will not come away with me, would you consider allowing me to stay here with you?” 

“You’ve already made it quite clear that you view this tower as a prison. How could you possibly want to stay here?”

“From the moment I heard your violin, my ears were enchanted. From the moment I saw your face, my eyes were enchanted. And from the moment I met you, my heart has been enchanted. With your consent, I would be honoured to call this place home.”

Sherlock could scarcely believe his ears, but his powers of observation told him John spoke the truth. His heart fluttered in an unfamiliar rhythm. “I think I would like that,” he said.

John’s smile lit up the tower. Then his face took on an air of concern. “Do you think Mrs. Hudson will permit me to stay?”

“Mrs. Hudson desires nothing more than my happiness. If you will make me happy, she will be delighted to have you here,” Sherlock assured him. Then he added, “Of course, if you should ever make me unhappy, she’s likely to turn you into a toad.”

John was not sure whether or not Sherlock’s last statement was made in jest, but since he intended to do everything in his power to ensure his beloved’s happiness, he supposed it didn’t matter.

“I see there is only one bed in this tower,” he said, “but I believe it is big enough for us both. Will you join me in it, and allow me to demonstrate how happy I can make you?”

Sherlock hesitated. His fingers worried at the long blue scarf around his neck.

“Sherlock, Sherlock, let down your scarf,” John said gently.

Sherlock slowly unwrapped the long blue scarf from his neck and allowed it to slip to the floor.

“Sherlock, Sherlock, let down your shirt,” John coaxed. 

Sherlock slowly unbuttoned his tight purple shirt and allowed it to slip to the floor.

“Sherlock, Sherlock, let down your trousers,” John urged. 

Sherlock slowly unfastened his snug grey trousers and allowed them to slip to the floor.

“Sherlock, Sherlock, let down your pants,” John cajoled. 

Sherlock shimmied out of his black silk pants and allowed them to slip to the floor.

“Sherlock, Sherlock, let down your inhibitions,” John enticed.

Sherlock released his inhibitions and allowed himself to slip into bed with John. 

And so the two were joined, and they lived happily ever after.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left kudos and comments on the previous chapter, and especially to shiplocks_of_love and lijahlover, whose comments inspired me to add the tags “and they were towermates” "oh my god they were towermates" and “there was only one bed.” 😄
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, you might want to check out some of my other Sherlock fairy tales: [Midnight Becomes You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13649199), [Princess Sherlock and the Pea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12139983), [The Bed Sheet Prince](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11359728), [Sleeping Irene](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13446495), and [I Love Him More than I Can Tell](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18367436).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Tower Trial](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25617199) by [PatPrecieux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatPrecieux/pseuds/PatPrecieux)




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